


Whiskey Foxtrot Tango

by anatratrope (were_duck)



Category: Fringe
Genre: Brown Betty, Community: kink_bingo, Episode Tag, F/F, First Time, object penetration (sex toys worn under clothing)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-02
Updated: 2010-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/were_duck/pseuds/anatratrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Brown Betty canon AU, Esther Figglesworth (AU!Astrid Farnsworth) sets out to seduce Detective Olivia Dunham with an alien sex toy. Episode tag for Fringe 2x20, "Brown Betty", no spoilers for the rest of the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey Foxtrot Tango

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful betas sasha_feather, jesse_the_k, and anna_bird!!
> 
> This fanfiction was created purely for fun--I do not own these characters, nor do I profit from this work, and no infringement is intended.

It's just starting to rain as Esther pulls her mobile telephone from her coat and dials Dunham's office phone. She dashes across the street and jogs up the steps to her apartment's entrance.

Olivia picks up on the second ring. "Dunham." Her annoyance vanished at the sultry sound of her old boss's voice, but she pulls the sarcasm on for old time's sake.

"I can't believe you picked up. Dunham, you're going soft on me. Time was you'd've let it go for four, just to prove your time is valuable."

"Life's too short and I solved the case AND got my man. I'm in a celebratory mood. What can I do for you, Esther?"

"Well, you know that back pay you owe me? Turns out the landlady doesn't love a penniless renter."

"Please tell me you're kidding."

"I suppose we can let it slide, since you got me this swank new job." Esther digs in her satchel for her keys, her hand brushing the strange metal tube inside her bag. She smirks and opens her apartment door with a rattle of keys, slipping into the dark, musty hallway.

"How is working for Doctor Bishop? Did you animate any corpses today?"

"Not today, but I suspect that's on the agenda for tomorrow. That man can't remember my name to save his life, he kept calling me 'Astrid'. But I've given up correcting him because he just starts explaining his favorite methods of esterification to me and it's two hours before I can get us back on track."

"Sounds terrible." Olivia's voice is dry.

Esther grins into her phone. "Well, not really. But I am looking for some company tonight. Turns out I've got some celebrating of my own to do, what with my new job and all, and I know how much you love dancing...." she can't help the way her lips quirk.

"Yeah?" Olivia says, obviously considering the offer.

There's a long pause, and Esther bites her lip, afraid Peter might have staked a stronger claim on the detective than she'd thought. Her mind races and she plays her trump card. "I've got something interesting to show you, I found it today. I could... use your help with it." She pulls the metal case out of her bag, fingers dancing over the alien symbols inscribed on its surface.

"Are you sure there's not going to be a problem, sharing lab secrets?" Esther hear the forced lightness in Olivia's voice and grins in satisfaction. Dunham's not only interested, she's actively curious, and her interest is by no means purely professional.

"I have it on the Bishop's word that I'm welcome to use whatever I find in the lab, and believe me," Esther pitches her voice suggestively, "you don't want to miss this, Dunham."

"Wretch," Olivia answers fondly. "The Black Cat, half an hour." She hangs up before Esther can respond, and her eagerness is infectious.

Esther's quick fingers make short work of the lock on the metal tube, and she lets its contents fall in a long flop onto her bed. It was long, curved, and of a black, sturdy unfamiliar material. It is pliant and fulsome, seeming to warm at the touch of her skin, and softens and stiffens as she rolls it around in her hands, gripping it experimentally. The obscene shape of the thing leaves little doubt to its purpose, bulging at each end.

Her mother raised her to be decent, but also to take what she wants, and she knows she's her mother's daughter if the lascivious resolve with which she handles the object is anything to go by. She reaches for the oil she keeps under her bedstand.

Fifteen minutes and a few attempts later, she finally works the shorter end up inside herself, following on the two slick fingers she uses to prep. It takes half the bottle before she realizes it was absorbing the oil, leaving only a thin sheer layer to slick itself with, and she marvels at the alien ingenuity of the thing.

Before she can lose her nerve, she's buttoned into her slacks, lips rouged, suspenders taut against her breasts, and fedora set just so. She takes a moment to slip her hand under the waistband and readjusts it so it lays between the curve of her left thigh and belly. The motion draws an involuntary moan from her lips as the thing twists itself, resettling against new points of pleasure within her.

She reevaluates her decision to walk and opts for a cab. She feels flush with the promise of a hefty paycheck, her mind set on seduction. She ponders the many possible ways this night could play out, the object pulsing encouragingly within her, and there's no way she'll make it to the club with any sort of dignity left after walking with this thing in her.

The air is cool, though the rain has stopped. She shivers under her umbrella, a gust of wind cutting through the thin wool of her slacks. She can feel smudges of oil and moisture cool against her inner thighs. The taxi driver doesn't try to chat her up, and she's so distracted by the thing between her legs that she doesn't play her usual game of Find the Fractal Traffic Pattern.

She swaggers into the club, weaving between the tables and fetching up against the bar just as Agent Broyles strikes up a mournful ballad on the piano.

"You'd think it'd kill him to play something danceable?" she mutters, motioning the bartender for two whiskeys. Dunham doesn't even glance at her, her eyes fixed on the bartender's stolid face as he measures out their drinks.

"Leave the man his pleasures in life. It's bad enough he has to see his subordinates socially," she jerks her chin at a table of young agents, and Esther sees Olivia's former partner, Charlie, pull a laughing woman onto the dance floor. They cut a rug together, twirling much too fast for the downtempo beat. Olivia's face is gentle, and she says, "That's my replacement, Amy Jessup, first year on the force. A damn good woman in a fight, and better on a case. Attaboy, Charlie. Took you long enough."

She raises her glass in a silent toast and downs the drink in one smooth gulp. Esther feels her mouth go dry at the ripple of her long throat as she swallows. Her gaze can only be described as smoldering as she turns to regard Esther. "Now, what's this you've got to show me?"

"Impatient, are we! And after I spent all those months leaning over your desk, wearing those silly skirts, doctoring your wounds, and you oblivious to it all... No. Now? We need to dance." Esther trails her fingers over Dunham's knuckles, then snares her wrist with more confidence than she's feeling. She wets her lips with the whiskey, then sets it on the bar barely touched. The alcohol stings her lips, and the thing inside her gives a delicious tremor, flowing from high up within her out past the bundle of nerves and along her hip. She begins to suspect it's teasing her.

Broyles dips his hat at them as they saunter onto the dance floor. Ordinarily Esther would worry about dancing in public with another woman, but she sees Broyles's tiny smile and trusts the easy glances of the cops around her, and he picks up the pace to a merry foxtrot just as they step onto the floor.

Olivia is surprisingly slight, and not that accomplished a dancer for all she's got the sultry, dark-eyed gaze down pat. Esther finds she doesn't mind, and lets her fingers twine in Dunham's, and the heat of her body pressing close is enough to make Esther break out in a sweat, her shirt clinging to her back and her knees deliciously weak.

They twirl and laugh around the floor for a few songs, briefly parting to cut in on other dancers. Esther finds herself staring up into the appraising eyes and disconcertingly knowing smile of Agent Jessup. Esther grins brightly at her, her hands fluttering awkwardly before settling on the agent's shoulders. She misses a beat and stops dead in the middle of the floor when she interprets "Deliver the package" in the rhythm of Jessup's lacquered fingernails clicking Morse code against the leather of her belt. Jessup's eyes are wicked though her face is grave as she expertly whirls Esther back into Olivia's wiry arms.

They stand there a moment, still in the center of a swirl of dancers, and Esther makes bold enough to press her thigh subtly against Dunham's. She can barely breathe, the smell of Dunham's light cologne and heavy sweat flooding her sinuses. Esther leans into her neck and whispers, "I've got to... powder my face."

"Ah." Dunham says, her voice professional, her lip curving wickedly. "I think I could use a moment, too."

Esther feels Olivia's hand on her hip as they slide into the shadows, feels her breath ghosting against her ear as they gain the hallway, and barely bites back an impatient growl as they bang into the powder room and Esther has Dunham up against the wall, shirt akimbo and fingers scrubbing down her hips, stalling out at her belt.

"Now do you plan to show me?" Olivia's voice is low and dangerous, her hand falling unerringly to the bulge at Esther's thigh. "Your dance step has been off all night, Esther, and it doesn't take a detective to see you've got something... new... here."

"I found it in Doctor Bishop's... it's... oh, God," Esther stammers as Olivia rubs her hand slowly along the thing, following its curve down between her legs and _tugging_. She feels her muscles ripple with renewed interest.

Olivia licks her below her ear, and Esther can't help the whimper she makes, closing her eyes and tilting her head back against the wall as Olivia maneuvers her against it. "Esther, you moll, caught in your own trap... I just... Here, you know, let me..." and suddenly she's on her knees, her sure fingers unfastening Esther's buttons, and the shaft of it is falling heavy against her palms.

Dunham stares at it, cradling it gently, and for a still moment Esther can barely stand how gorgeous she looks. There's something incredibly alluring about the sight of Olivia Dunham, P. I., with her hair disheveled, forehead glistening with sweat, on her knees and contemplating unspeakable acts with an alien sex object.

Esther stares at Olivia's dark eyelashes, her smudged red lipstick parting in two, the white of her teeth and the pink of her tongue as she licks up the length of it, pausing to consider the taste, then wrapping her lips around the whole thing with an intensity that has Esther's knees buckling and breath coming in short hitching sobs.

Olivia's hand grips the shaft, squeezing downward and the damned thing is telegraphing her every touch. Esther feels her exploring along its length, picking up the oil it's begun to exude. There's a slight softening in the thing, like a breath released.

Esther's eyes fly open as she feels Olivia's fingers sliding into her, curling around the yielding shaft and pressing insistent little circles into the places that elicit greedy little moans.

"_Olivia_, oh wow, you... _oh_..." she gasps, as Olivia presses it forward, then pulls it back roughly, rocking the other end further into her, her rhythm increasing as Esther's hips buck forward to meet each move. She coughs around it, adjusting her angle to take more into her mouth.

Then, decisively, she grabs Esther and pins her to the wall by her hips, taking the thing fully into her mouth until her nose presses against that sweet spot, her fingertips leaving punishing bruises on her hips. The piece inside of her pushes in just the right place, and Esther sobs and buries one fist in Olivia's hair and the other in her own mouth to muffle her cries as she bears down on a fierce roll of pleasure.

They sink to the floor, sweaty and disheveled, and Esther has a sudden vision of Olivia straddling her lap, sliding herself onto the shaft, taking her pleasure on it, on Esther... and that's enough to draw a few more powerful aftershocks out of her.

"So," she says when she recovers her power of speech. "You don't suppose he'll miss it? I found it in storage. I can't imagine a lot of scientific applications for it, though I could be wrong."

Olivia laughs, smile lines gracing her eyes. "Well, a true scientist will make every effort to solve a mystery of this magnitude, don't you think? I shall, of course, offer myself up to assist with your... experiments. We are, after all, both in search of the truth." Her face is blessedly open, soft and flushed, and Esther can suddenly sympathize with the glass-hearted men. She feels transparent and fragile, gorgeous and impossible, as Dunham tucks her arm around her ribs and leans in for a lingering kiss.


End file.
